


Warm Leather

by ABTwrites



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/F, Identity Issues, Kleo might be fostering a crush, Magnolia is canonically a synth, Magnolia struggles with her identity, Porn with Feelings, Robot Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:48:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27927019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABTwrites/pseuds/ABTwrites
Summary: Magnolia knew her strengths lay in her illusions. Her silk, her melodies, the deep gray mystery in her eyes. She’s all marble skin, unscarred and rad-free, clean nails and white teeth, a welcoming voice that lulls problems away.The knowledge of her illusions, well. It was the trade for keeping her memories.--------Magnolia tells Kleo her secrets. Kleo, in return, offers her an immediate sort of comfort.
Relationships: KL-E-0/Magnolia (Fallout)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	Warm Leather

Magnolia knew her strengths lay in her illusions. Her silk, her melodies, the deep gray mystery in her eyes. She’s all marble skin, unscarred and rad-free, clean nails and white teeth, a welcoming voice that lulls problems away.

The knowledge of her illusions, well. It was the trade for keeping her memories.

Sometimes, it wasn’t so bad. She could go months without considering herself, without overthinking it. She was alive, she existed, and whatever the world blew into her little town, her little stage, she could handle it with a smile.

Sometimes, it was bad. Overwhelming, even. She really should get rid of the mirror in her room. But then how would she brush her hair so straight, curl her eyelashes? She stares into the mirror, into her own gray eyes, for hours. Moves her neck so slightly, feels the rattle of bone on bone. Or is it bone? Metal on metal, or ivory grown in a test tube.

Does that matter? Does it matter that the skin of her face isn’t a human’s skin? She moves her fingers over her forehead, down her nose, over her lips. Her eyes widen, pupils dilate, and she watches her own face like it’s a sheet of music she’s never seen.

She wondered if her insides would be all cylinders and leather. Her hand wandered to her chest, pressed down. Bumping against the back of her ribs, always in twos. Did her heart look like a human’s?

Fraud. She leaned close to the mirror, her reflection did the same. Fraud. Fraud. It wasn’t a feeling she had often, but when she had it, oh she _had it._

The Alpha had given her the choice. Nights like this, she wished she’d forgotten.

She’d gone to Amari once. Or rather she’d stood in front of the Memory Den with her emotions shallow in her skin, willing for the courage to ask for what she wanted. When Irma approached her with that worried look on her face, she bailed. Was happy she bailed too, until the next time. Until now, when she’s been stuck staring into the mirror for four hours wondering if everything she is is just a cheap facsimile of a person. A lie.

The failsafes had wiped vast amounts of her memories even without the Railroad’s help. There was so little she remembered about the Institute, about most of her life. How old was she really? Was she aging at all? Had she been born with the light crests around her eyes?

Her body remembered things better than she did. Her arms pricked with twinges of pain when she saw someone shoot up. She knew the sensation of needles under skin without having used herself; the Railroad talked often of experiments synths underwent within the Institute. When they asked, the word ‘yes’ had flown out of her mouth before she had time to process the question, to remember a specific instance. She only knew, yes, yes they had, they had done _something,_ many times. Something painful, something wrong. She didn’t like needles.

She didn’t like guns, either. Which was, as Charlie had said many times, a death sentence out in the wasteland. But when she had a gun in her hand, she felt a film form over her brain, a distance between her soul and her body. She felt herself fall into the background, and the muscle memory was _there_ too, in the twitch-response of her trigger finger, in her grouping, in her ring placement. She knew how to use a gun.

But she couldn’t remember _how_ or _why_ , and that terrified her.

That synth in Diamond City snapped and went on a massacre. Would she? Would someone say the right word, would she pick up the right gun, would someone try to Stim her, and she’d completely lose herself?

The prospect made her feel ill.

Ill enough to go to Kleo, tell her all of her secrets.

Tell her that if she ever snapped like that, then…well. Magnolia made her promise to make it quick, to stop her before she hurt anyone. The Assaultron conceded, though she stated plainly that she was compelled to give her more than one chance.

“I’ll burn down the Rail first. If that doesn’t work, I’ll take your head off, nice and clean. You won’t feel a thing, honey. I promise.”

Kleo, in her own way, looked a bit sad when she said that.

“Would you give anyone else a second chance?” Magnolia chuckled, mouth sour with curiosity.

“Hell no,” Kleo whirred. “We’re the same, you and I. Couple of girls trying to make a living, to hell with whatever we were made for. Killing you would feel too personal. So make sure I don’t ever have to, yeah?”

Magnolia grimaced and looked down at the counter between them. “It won’t be my choice, if I do,” she murmured. “I won’t be me anymore. So don’t feel bad.”

Magnolia’s eyes must have been far off, or maybe her pause was too long, Because Kleo brought a claw up to her chin and tapped under it gently.

“We all love you, baby,” she said with long, tinny syllables. “No hunk of metal in your head is gonna change that.”

“Just don’t let me hurt anybody, alright?” Magnolia’s voice broke when she said it. “I don’t wanna hurt anybody.”

Kleo’s neck twitched to the side, body whirred loud as she was at once in action. Her swiftness startled Magnolia, who took a rigid step away from the counter. The Assaultron circled around her shop and tugged the metal grate shut, flipped the ‘closed’ sign, and in one fluid motion stepped into the singer’s space and backed her up against the countertop. Her claws gripped either side of her, heavy titanium body just an inch from Magnolia’s.

“I don’t wanna lie to you, baby,” she said, so close the singer could feel the vibrations of her audio purring through her chestplate. “There’s a lot of people in this town I’d let you kill before I put you out.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, Kleo,” Magnolia murmured, grief tinging to something else deep inside her.

“What’s got you thinkin’ these things, huh?”

Kleo’s red eye was fixed on her, and the innate fear that tended to bring mixed with the warmth and cold in her, all of it swirling into a soup of confused signals. Magnolia leaned back against the counter, Kleo leaned forward; the singer felt the robot’s shell on her inner thigh as the space between them shrunk.

“Just one of those days.” Magnolia found herself shuddering. “Where I don’t feel like myself.”

“I know those days.”

“Do you?”

“More than any meat-man would.”

“And,” she started, throat dry, “how do you get out of it?”

“I remember what I am _right now._ ” The soft static in her tone simmered through her. “A business owner. An independent. A _woman.”_

Kleo’s cold thigh slotted hard into Magnolia’s then, no preamble, forcing her red dress up to her hips as her steel armor connected with Magnolia’s panties. The contact was unexpected, ripped an astonished gasp from the singer as her hands shot forward to grab at the Assaultron’s chassis.

Under her grasp she realized how _solid_ Kleo was. She didn’t move at all in response to Magnolia’s motions, didn’t falter or slip; if she let her weight go and fell on her she’d probably be crushed, all steel and syphons and electricity.

It should have felt dangerous. It _did_ feel dangerous. But it was equal parts exhilarating.

“How about I help you out, baby,” she purred. “Let me make you _feel_ like a woman again.”

Kleo didn’t wait for permission. An arm dove down to the curve of her ass and lifted, yanking Magnolia upwards onto her frame like she weighed nothing, and she was already halfway up the stairs when the singer processed what was happening.

Kleo’s room wasn’t much of a room at all, just four walls, a workbench and a broken dresser and a small collection of lanterns burning along the windows. No bed, no pillows, no creature comforts; maybe she didn’t need them, maybe she found excesses annoying, as many robots did.

“You interested, Flower?” Kleo bothered to ask after she’d already pressed her up against the concrete wall. “ _You_ want comfort for a change?”

Magnolia’s nerves were singing already, blood running hot.

“You’d do that for me?” she gasped. Kleo was holding her up still, effortlessly, heavy pelvis solid between the singer’s legs. Her red eye pressed against Magnolia’s nape; it was hot, not hot enough to burn but almost, almost, a scorched kiss to replace the mouth of a human. She let out a soft moan at the pressure, arched her back, let her head fall against the wall.

“I don’t like divulging my weaknesses,” she whirred as her hips pulsed forward once, connecting with a breathless sigh Magnolia didn’t know she could make. “But I might find myself easily persuaded to do a great number of things, if you were the one asking.”

“Oh?” Magnolia chuckled, her arms lacing around Kleo’s shoulders as she grew ever warmer. Might have made her feel special for a moment, might have distracted her better. Could an Assaultron have a crush? It was beginning to sound that way, and Magnolia couldn’t deny that the prospect made her heart race.

Synths always got their memories wiped. Or, they worked for the Railroad, gave their entire beings over to justice, or revenge, depending on who you asked. Even another synth couldn’t understand her, and that reality kept her from becoming truly close with _anyone._

“No one else like us out there, baby. Isn’t that special?” Kleo purred, as if reading her mind.

One of her claws pressed against her clothed cunt, digit crawling under the small bridge of fabric and pulling it aside. It occurred to the singer distantly to tell her not to rip them, nice panties were close to impossible to find, but when she tugged sideways and the lace ripped with a satisfying, exhilarating _tear…_ well, it was worth the caps.

“How do you want it, gorgeous?” She actually sounded turned on, audio laced with groans and subtle static. The sound of it snaked thick down Magnolia’s thighs.

“ _Kleo_ ,” she gasped as the cold metal of her claw stroked her slit with surprising gentleness.

“Oh, baby,” the Assaultron crooned. “Say that again, just like that.”

She parted her lips with the thin edge of her claw and pressed, _pressed_ inside, its curve shockingly nimble. Magnolia lost her breath again, caught in the newness of the sensation, in the chill of the metal and the heat of her eye, in the strength of her arms, in her powerful heaviness.

“ _Kleo,_ _oh,”_ she conceded, her name slipping out of her mouth easily as her strokes went on slow and deep.

“Yes,” she hissed, eagerness flashing a dull pulse within her eye. “Keep singing, gorgeous. Sing for me. I wanna hear my name.”

The tip of her claw slotted hard against something deep inside her, curved, teased, the pressure surged through her like electricity and she would have screamed if she was the type. She moaned her name again, and again, and every time Kleo got more worked up, more firm in her thrusts, more unabashed, until Magnolia was losing herself in her rhythm, lost, lost, grabbing on, grinding her hips.

“Let me fuck you,” the Assaultron demanded, her audio frayed and desperate. “Top drawer.”

Magnolia whimpered and oh _god_ she never whimpered during sex but it didn’t matter, it didn’t, her hand flew out to the side and smacked against the dresser, clawed into the drawer, grabbed the first thing she found and before she could even look Kleo had taken it from her and lowered it between them.

“Wires,” Kleo gasped as she withdrew her claw, wet and eager for what came next. “The wires at the back of my neck. Play with them.”

Something smooth and rigid and _large_ began to split Magnolia open and the excitement of not knowing just how full she would become drove her upward, pressing her breasts to Kleo’s armor as her fingers found the small collection of exposed wires behind her head.

Testing, she scraped her manicured nail over one of them. Kleo’s reaction was immediate, intense, her body trembled and her speaker gasped out hard. She lost control for a moment and her arm surged forward, sinking the toy too fast into the Flower.

She shouted, grabbed her tight, legs shaking and cunt full, so full, stretching around her, it hurt and filled her with raw, tearing pleasure at the same time.

Another scrape, another wire. The sounds erupting from the robot were so satisfying, so pure and intense. She gasped with each stroke, each slide and scrape. The cock between them pierced her in rhythm, the claw that grasped it stroking against her clit as it hilted deep inside her.

“Fuck, yes, just like _that.”_ Her voice was garbled with static and rumbling pleasure, building and building. “You’re taking me _so nice,_ even better than I imagined.”

Imagined? Could Assaultrons fantasize? Well, Kleo was special too, wasn’t she? Magnolia’s breath hitched at the thought, that she’d been considered by her in such a way before now.

She skimmed over three wires at once and Kleo shouted, fumbled between them for a moment before the claw that had been holding the cock rose to the curve of her back. She lifted her easily from the wall and sat her on top of the workbench beside them; the rhythm didn’t falter, she must have attached the toy to herself-

Kleo hilted herself inside of her, pelvis connecting to Magnolia’s, and a separate tendril stroked her clit _just_ right at the end of the motion, unexpected. She let a harsh gasp rip through her as the vibrations started, nearly had her knock her head against the wall in shock.

“ _Fuck, Kleo!_ ” she panted, world suddenly flying away as acute, searing pleasure had her every nerve on fire.

“Yes,” Kleo hissed again, voice warbled and pace becoming slow and deep, with every new stroke kissing against her clit. “ _Yes_. Keep touching me, baby.”

Magnolia’s fingers were shaking with they returned and, emboldened, she wrapped her thumb and pointer around a bundle and stroked, tracing up from the plug down to the crest of her armored back. A strong tremble rippled through her entire frame, shorted her speakers in an erotic groan, chassis shuddering against Magnolia’s breasts, pelvis surging forward, sinking deep, deep, _deep._ Her thighs halted at the edge of the workbench, stopped only by the steel, and the singer found herself heaving with excitement at the realization that Kleo could, without exaggeration, fuck her into a puddle of nothing.

“Your nails,” Kleo shuddered. “Use your nails- _oh!”_

Magnolia obliged quickly, eagerly, bit her nail into the wire as hard as the position allowed and dragged it up, up, and Kleo was practically singing, system at peak, fans blaring, armor hot, eye flickering, claws dug into Magnolia’s soft thighs. She leaned forward, towering over her, and forced her eye hard against the singer’s nape.

It was hotter this time. Hot enough to send a shock of pain, of fear, plunging like a rock into her molten pool of need, splashing, soaking, sinking and Kleo thrusted hard into her and the pain and pleasure met in the middle, a firework erupting.

Maybe in cruelty, maybe in affection, Magnolia abandoned any attempt at delicacy and wracked her nails over the open panel indiscriminately. The effect was instant; Kleo straightened above her, claws flying from her hips to the table to crunch down on the metal, denting it, at least aware enough not to maim her as her frame shook with pure energy, electrical flares passing from panel to panel. Her voice whirred, peaked with a monstrous gasp and she began hammering her hips forward, fucking Magnolia with abandon.

She fell back against the bench, unable to hold herself up anymore, throat thick with a chorus of thrilled moans. Every kiss against her clit was matched with the fullness of the cock, every tug and pull thrusted against every spot she could beg for. It was pure bliss rocking through her.

“Come for me, angel,” Kleo crooned, voice breathless with static. “Show me how you come.”

Another thrust, another, and she tugged her forward, bottomed out, buried her cock completely and the vibrations licked at her just right and her body was singing with waves of ripping desperation. Close, so close; Magnolia tugged at her chestplate, made her lower herself as she pounded into her and, on total impulse, trailed her lips over the curve of her red eye.

Kleo’s entire frame shook violently, speaker bursting with a sudden, shuddering cry and the rawness of the sound brought of the building waves crashing down inside of Magnolia. And she _did_ scream this time as every sensation slotted just right, just right, Kleo’s weight and her power and her cock stroking every inch of her.

The time between their shared orgasm and Kleo lifting Magnolia off the workbench was nebulous. Her head was alive with nothing but fog and thick satisfaction, even as she realized she was sitting on Kleo’s strong arm rather than being lowered to the floor. She let her upper body sag over Kleo’s frame, head rested in the crook of her neck.

Kleo’s purring chuckle kept her from drifting off then. She found it curious how comfortable she was, despite her hard shell and whirring joints. The spaces between her protective plates were warm, soft with leather. Her neck was just barely firmer then a human’s might be; had anyone besides her gotten close enough to Kleo to notice?

Presumptuous, but it was a pleasant thought.

“Kleo,” she murmured.

The Assaultron let out a hum in response.

“How nice,” she replied, vents puffing with heat as she came down in her own way. “I wondered if the effect would lessen afterward, but it hasn’t.”

Magnolia furrowed her brow, but couldn’t find the strength to pick her head up. “What’s that?”

“My name,” she hummed. “Every time you said my name, my body reacted.”

Magnolia felt the urge to bring them even closer, somehow, so she straightened her back and wrapped her arms around Kleo’s shoulders. The motion was honest, raw, and she’d not felt the urge to hold someone so close before.

“Every time?” she whispered, lips touched to leather.

The robot shuddered, speaker rumbling. “Every time, baby.”

“Don’t let me go yet.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing Mags again, is anyone surprised. I discovered a dynamic and went with it. Comments and kudos always appreciated, if people like these two I'll write more.


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